Last Bridge Home by Iris Johansen
“He didn’t want to. I insisted. I wanted to know everything.” His gaze flickered to her stomach. “Everything.”
He couldn’t mean … Elizabeth felt the hot color of a flush stain her cheeks, but she realized quickly how foolish she was being. Mark would never have shared the intimate details of their relationship even with his closest friend. She took another sip of coffee. “That’s understandable, I suppose. We always want to know about the people who are close to those we love. What did he tell you about me?”
“Not enough.” He was studying her with moody intensity. “Not nearly enough.”
“Well, there wasn’t much to tell,” she said lightly. “I was a twenty-eight-year-old spinster with a house and a dog and three years to go on my bachelor’s degree in library science, when Mark swept into my life. He came, he saw, he conquered.”
“So I understand.” Once again there was an inexplicable harshness in his tone. His lids lowered to partially veil his eyes, as he caught the uneasiness of her expression. “You were happy with him?”
“Oh, yes.” Her eyes glowed softly. “He was the kindest, gentlest human being I’ve ever met. We only had six months together before the accident took his life, but they were the happiest I’ve ever known.”
“You didn’t have many men to compare him with. After all, you were practically house bound nursing your father all those years.”
So Mark had told him about her father as well, she realized. “Those were happy years too. I loved my father and wanted to help him. I wasn’t a victim of circumstances, I chose to live my life that way. I’ve never regretted the choice.” A brilliant smile illuminated her face. “And then Mark came into my life, and now the baby. Isn’t it wonderful that when one love is taken away we’re given another to replace it?”
The hard lines of his face softened as he studied her eager expression. “Wonderful,” he echoed quietly.
The odd breathless feeling returned, and her hand trembled as she set her cup down in the saucer. “I’m afraid Mark didn’t tell me very much about you. I didn’t even know you existed until shortly before he died, and even then he wasn’t very informative.”
“What did he tell you?”
She held up two fingers as she enumerated the facts she knew. “That you worked out of the country. That I would be able to trust you as much as I trusted him.” She held up a third finger, her brown eyes dancing. “And that you weren’t as tough as you seemed. I got the impression you were some kind of mercenary or something.”
“No.” He was silent for a moment. “It was generous of Mark to speak so favorably of me. I don’t think I would have been as generous under the circumstances.”
She frowned in puzzlement. “Generous? Why shouldn’t he—”
“Never mind.” He made an impatient motion with his hand. “It’s not important right now. What’s important is that you trust me as Mark asked you to.” He paused. “I’ve rented a place in the mountains near Saranac Lake. I want you to pack a suitcase and come with me right now. Tonight.”
“WHAT—” SHE BROKE OFF, HER EYES WIDENING in shock. “You have to be kidding?”
He shook his head. “I don’t find the situation at all amusing. Unless you come with me, I believe you’ll be even less amused.” He leaned forward, the muscles of his shoulders coiled, vibrating with tension. “Gome with me. Trust me. You won’t be sorry.”
“Just like that?” she asked blankly. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m almost nine months pregnant. In another three weeks my baby will be born. I’m not about to go on a jaunt into the mountains. I’m only twenty minutes away from a hospital here on the outskirts of Al bany.”
“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you or your child.” There was absolute certainty both in his voice and in his expression.
She believed him. She had the feeling he’d use every ounce of his strength to keep her safe. The impression was so vivid, she had an almost irresistible impulse to yield to it. She hadn’t been able to lean on anyone in a long time. “Look, I realize you want to help me.” She reached out and covered his hand as it lay on the table. His body went perfectly still. Was he one of those people who disliked being touched? Well, if he was, it was just too bad. She was a very tactile person, and she found it difficult to communicate without touching. She kept her hand where it was. “You came here and saw a widow in a very delicate, awkward position, seemingly alone and vulnerable. You remembered how much you cared for Mark, and now you want to do something to make his wife’s way a little easier.” She met his gaze. “Perhaps you even feel guilty because you weren’t here to lend me support at the funeral.”
“You have it all worked out,” he said, never lifting his gaze from her hand clasping his own.
“It wasn’t all that difficult. I think Mark was right. You’re not as tough as you look.” Her hand tightened on his. “But you have to understand I’m a good deal tougher than I appear, too, and I’m not vulnerable or alone.
I have friends, and I have my baby. I’ll be fine.”
“Friends who are two miles away, and a baby who hasn’t arrived on the scene yet. I wouldn’t say your arguments are convincing. I think you’d just better put yourself in my hands.”
She automatically glanced down at the hand she was holding. They were strong hands, capable and sure, hands that would never falter. She gave his hand a final squeeze and released it. “But I can’t do that. I have to take care of myself. We all have to live our own lives.” She made a face. “And I can’t see why you’d want to burden yourself with a woman in my condition so soon after your arrival from abroad. You must have all kinds of things you want to do now that you’re back in the States.”
“You’re wrong. There’s nothing I’d rather do than care for you.”
“Well, it’s out of the question. So forget it.”
“I can’t forget it.” As he lifted his lids, she was struck by the impact of brilliant dark eyes. “Because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I don’t feel guilty and it’s not family loyalty that’s dictating my desire to keep you safe. It’s simply a necessity. You’re in danger, dammit.”
“Danger?” She gazed at him in disbelief. “What danger could I possibly be in?”
“Lord, now I’ve frightened you,” he growled in profound self-disgust. “I didn’t mean to come out with it so abruptly. I could shock you into labor or something.”
“I’m hardly that fragile,” she said dryly. “Though you did surprise me.” And frightened her, she thought to herself. There had been no doubt of the seriousness of his statement. “Why should—”
“It’s a little complicated to explain. Mark belonged to a group the government is investigating. They may think you belong to the same group, or at least have knowledge of them.”
She felt waves of surprise roll over her. “Mark was involved with a subversive organization? That’s crazy. He would never had sup ported a group like that.”
“It wasn’t a subversive organization. He didn’t belong to any group that posed a threat to the government.” He paused. “But he did belong to a group under suspicion, and the NIB isn’t known to wait patiently while their suspicions are checked out. The National Intelligence Bureau can be quite ruthlessly effective in their actions.”
“Are you saying the NIB might have had Mark … killed?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Mark’s death was entirely natural. The NIB didn’t become active in the investigation until later.”
“I don’t understand any of this.” She shook her head in an effort to clear it. “Mark wasn’t even interested in politics. He was a professor of English on sabbatical. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Do you believe me?” he asked quietly.
Yes, she believed him, she realized. And that was even more incredible than what he had told her. There was no avoiding the naked sincerity in his gaze as he looked at her. “Are you sure?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
She wa
He shook his head. “Bardot is a fanatic. He’s been biding his time, but now he’s ready to make his move.”
“Bardot?”
“Karl Bardot, NIB.”
“You appear to be very well informed.” Her expression was wary. “I don’t suppose it’s possible that you belong to the same organization as Mark did?”
“Yes.”
She had expected the answer. “Oh dear, I was afraid you were.”
“Why afraid?” He frowned. “I told you there was no threat involved. Particularly not to you. All you have to do is come with me, and I’ll see that you’re taken care of.”
“I can’t do that. This is my home. I don’t even know you.” Her fingers ran distractedly through her nut-brown hair. “You walk in here and tell me I should leave everything that’s dear and familiar to me just because—”
“Mark told you to trust me.”
“Not with my baby.” Her tone was suddenly fierce.
A faint smile touched his lips. “Does that mean you’d trust me if the child wasn’t in volved?”
“I think so.” Her expression was troubled. “Oh. I don’t know. I believe you mean well, but it’s all so bizarre. If I’m innocent, there can’t be any danger to me. This is America, for goodness’ sake.”
“You won’t come with me?”
She shook her head. “You have to be mistaken. I’m sure I’ll be fine once I’ve explained I don’t know anything about all this.”
“I didn’t think you would, but it was worth a chance.” He set his cup down and pushed his chair away from the table. “You’re tired and hungry. I’ll leave now so that you can have your meal and get some rest.”
“You’re leaving?” She didn’t know why she experienced a sudden panic.
“I’ve said what I had to say.” He stood up and shrugged into his coat. “I’d like you to promise me something before I go.”
“Promise?”
“I want you to promise me you won’t let Bardot lure you out of the cottage on any pre text, that you won’t get in a car or even go for a walk with him.”
She felt a cold chill ripple through her. She smiled tremulously. “That won’t be difficult. I probably won’t even meet the man.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise,” she whispered.
“You look like a big-eyed little girl,” he said softly. “Don’t worry. You’re making it very difficult for me, but I won’t let anything happen to you. That’s what I’m here for.”
She stood up, suddenly feeling a ridiculous sense of profound relief and well-being. “Are you staying in Albany?”
He shook his head. “I’ll be around.” He fastened the buttons of his jacket. “I can find my own way out. Don’t see me to the door, it’s too cold outside. The weather report said we should expect snow tomorrow night. That might be interesting.”
Snow, interesting? What a curious turn of phrase. “You’re obviously not from upstate New York or you wouldn’t find the possibility of a November snowstorm very interesting.” Her expression became wistful. “I’ll be sorry to see the first snow. I love the summer. I spend most of my time outdoors from April until September.” She suddenly grimaced. “I guess you can tell. I’m positively covered with freckles.”
“Yes, I can tell.” He turned away. “Goodbye, Beth, I’ll see you soon.”
“Beth?” She raised an eyebrow inquiringly. “My name is Elizabeth. No one calls me Beth.”
“Not even Mark?”
“No.”
There was a flicker of satisfaction on his face. “Goodbye, Beth.”
Not waiting for a reply, he turned and left the kitchen. A moment later she heard the front door close.
She stood there for a while, her mind a wild jumble of tattered impressions and half-formed thoughts. Jon Sandell had been there less than an hour, she realized, but he had managed to throw her into a state of complete confusion. Her heart was pounding, and her skin was tingling as if she’d just been through a Finnish sauna. Fear. Yes, fear and something else which was not so easily defined. Suddenly she was jolted out of her confusion by the most basic action possible: Andrew kicked her with force and precision.
Her hand went to her abdomen. “All right, I can take a hint. I should think good thoughts and eat dinner. Right, kid?” She turned briskly and walked toward the counter where the Crockpot still bubbled. “Nag, nag, nag.”
She didn’t have much hope for good thoughts, but she did feel better after she’d had a bowl of stew and another half-cup of coffee. She gazed wistfully out the window as the tap water filled the sink, and she prepared to wash the dishes. It was entirely dark outside, and she could no longer see the narrow ribbon of the stream or the woods that lay beyond the meadow.
“You’ll have to get a blanket so I can lay him down.”
She whirled with a startled little cry. Jon Sandell stood in the doorway of the kitchen. In his arms was a mass of lean, tawny fur and … blood.
“Sam?” She could barely speak. “Oh, no!”
“He’s not hurt badly. You should take him to the vet tomorrow to have a preventive shot, but after you clean the wound he should be fine. The blanket,” he prompted.
“What?” she murmured in distraction, her gaze still fixed agonizingly on Sam. “Oh, yes, right away.” She moved at an amazingly fast pace from the room to the bathroom closet and grabbed the first blanket she could find from the shelf. In an instant she was back in the kitchen, doubling the blanket and spreading it on the hearth. “You’re sure he’s not badly hurt?” she asked anxiously. “There’s a vet just—”
“He’s fine.” Jon knelt and put the dog down carefully on the blanket. His big hands were gentle as he arranged Sam’s legs and settled his weight more evenly. The animal gave a low whimper, and Jon immediately stroked his long sleek nose. “Easy. You’re home now, boy.”
Elizabeth could feel hot tears stinging her eyes. “What happened to him?”
Jon pointed to the ugly red gash that ex tended in a straight line from behind Sam’s front paw to the middle of his back. “Bullet. It only grazed him, but he’s not going to feel like chasing rabbits for a while.”
Elizabeth could feel the blood leave her face. “A hunter?” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “It must have been a hunter who mistook Sam for a deer.”
“Perhaps.” He gave Sam a final pat and rose to his feet. “Would you like me to stay, or can you manage by yourself?”
“I can manage. Where did you find him? On the road?”
“In the woods.”
She turned in surprise to face him. “What were you doing in the woods?”
“I was searching for your Heinz 57. I knew as soon as you had time to think about him that you’d be out looking for him yourself. I didn’t want you stumbling around in the dark.” He met her gaze. “Was I wrong?”
“No,” she whispered. “Thank you, Jon.”
He smiled with surprising gentleness. “He’s a brave dog. I like your Sam, Beth.” He turned away. “Take good care of him.”
“I will.”
The door had scarcely closed behind him when she was kneeling beside the dog, cleaning the wound with soap and water. Jon was right. Though the wound was shallow it had to be very painful for poor Sam. Yet the dog was mutely patient, and he gave only an occasional whimper as the antibiotic cream Elizabeth applied stung the wound.
“You are a good dog, aren’t you, boy,” she murmured. “He likes you. Do you know that? And that provides him with some pretty heavy credentials for good taste in this household. As for the rest, he’s still a bit of a mystery. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
The night was clear and frigid, and each breath Jon drew released a wisp of smoky vapor into the air. He opened the door of the pickup,
Gunner Nilsen answered on the second ring. “Yes?”
“I’ve made contact.”
“And?”
“She refused to leave the cottage.”
“Well, you expected as much. You told me yourself it wasn’t likely you could persuade her to trust you that far.”
“No, but I had to try.” There was weariness threading his voice. “She’s with child, dammit. I wanted to make it as easy as I could for her.”
“I know, Jon.”
“How is it up there?”
“The lodge is comfortable and the location exactly what you wanted.”
“You covered your tracks?”
Gunner chuckled. “I not only covered them, I buried them. As far as the leasing agency is concerned, the lodge is being rented by a Wall Street tycoon for his snow-bunny mistress. Did you hear it was going to snow tomorrow? I’m looking forward to it. I bought skis from the sports shop in town.”
“Wonderful,” Jon said ironically. “All we need is for you to break your leg on one of the slopes.”
“It can’t be that much different from sand skiing,” Gunner protested. “I’ll be careful.” There was a short pause. “Is she the person you expected?”
Jon turned the question over in his mind. He had a sudden vivid picture of Elizabeth Ramsey as he’d last seen her. She’d been standing in the kitchen, her body seemingly too fragile to support the burden of the child she was carrying, her straight brown hair shining richly in the firelight, the sleeves of her loose blue shirt rolled up to reveal strong, shapely arms. She had said herself that she wasn’t pretty, and perhaps she wasn’t by classic standards. The slightly upward tilt of her nose and the golden freckles dusting her face weren’t conventionally attractive.
Freckles touched by the summer sun she loved. She was the kind of woman anyone would want to touch, to leave a sign of affection upon in passing so she would remember … and smile. Lord, he loved her smile. He had expected it, had known how warm and lovely it would be, but he had still found him self staring at her like a gaping boy. He’d found himself glancing away quickly in order to resist the impulse to reach out and trace the source of that smile with his finger.